


Counterpoint for Two Flutes

by mildred_of_midgard, raspberryhunter



Category: 18th Century CE Frederician RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Flute - Freeform, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mood Swings, Mother Love, Music, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/pseuds/mildred_of_midgard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: Crown Prince Friedrich's escape attempt having failed, the King's judgment took all that the Prince loved from him, and now the Prince is languishing under house arrest, bereft of even music. Young army musician Fredersdorf finds himself trying to help the Prince in every way he can think of, no matter how small.
Relationships: Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great & Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great/Hans Hermann von Katte
Comments: 25
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Counterpoint for Two Flutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/gifts).



_Good counterpoint requires two qualities: (1) a meaningful or harmonious relationship between the lines, and (2) some degree of independence or individuality within the lines themselves. - Encyclopedia Britannica_

The first thing Michael Fredersdorf noticed about the Crown Prince was his startlingly blue eyes, staring intensely at him as he bowed and gave his name. Fredersdorf studied him in return, more discreetly. The King had court-martialed Prince Friedrich and treated him as a common prisoner last year, then pardoned him; now the Prince was still heir to the throne, but kept under house arrest--it was hard to tell exactly where he stood. His clothing did little to clear up the ambiguity. The brown coat he wore was simple and ragged, obvious prisoner's garb, yet underneath it, his other clothes were of better quality and condition.

Fredersdorf didn't know quite what to make of it. Were they forcing this reminder of his humiliation on the Crown Prince while they rehabilitated him? Or did he really lack the means to acquire a better coat? Fredersdorf would have to keep an eye out for the nuances of the situation.

The Prince frowned at him, but it seemed to be a frown of thought rather than disapproval. 

"So you," Prince Friedrich said in the awkward but serviceable German of a French-speaking prince, "are the one who has been sent to play for me."

He circled around Fredersdorf, examining him as he talked. He was small and unprepossessing, and shouldn't have felt physically intimidating at all, coming up only to Fredersdorf's shoulder. But there was an almost frenetic energy about the Prince, and all of it focused on him. Fredersdorf felt as if he were being summed up and found wanting, but he tried not to look as if it bothered him. "You play the flute in your regiment's band? I ask for the best they can find," the Prince muttered, "and they give me someone from my father's army. Still," he said, more kindly, "beggars can't be choosers, and I've had no other music in a year. I appreciate that you were willing to come."

Fredersdorf wasn't quite certain how to correct him without giving offense. "I play oboe in Schwerin's regiment, Your Royal Highness," he explained carefully, once he was certain Prince Friedrich had finished talking, "and flute for the love of it." He'd understood his instructions to mean that the Prince wanted the flute, not the instrument he played professionally, but now he wished he had clarified that point. "It's my pleasure to play either, or both, as you wish. Though I'll have to retrieve my oboe, or bring it next time." Fredersdorf hoped rather desperately that his first impression wouldn't be based on a misunderstanding.

"No," Prince Friedrich said shortly. "Not the oboe, I asked for the flute." He waved his hand at Fredersdorf, urging him on. "Let's see what you can do, then. I haven't got all day."

Fredersdorf had expected a little more in the way of introduction, but he could already tell that this prince did as he would. He was not sure what to make of the impatience and irritation in the Prince's face, and was grateful for a job to do, and grateful he had the instrument at hand. He took the pack off his back and knelt to draw out the flute and quickly put it together. He essayed a note or two.

He glanced at the Prince. The Prince's eyes were on him. He raised the flute again to his lips.

When he played the flute, there was a small kernel of him that stayed alert, thinking of technique and breath support, but the rest of him was free to sink into the music, to think of nothing else but the melody as it twined around them both, the purity of the line of sound. He forgot the annoyance and the coldness in Prince Friedrich's face. He forgot the machinations of the King. Only the music was important, now. Flute, he thought, was surely the most beautiful of all the instruments, the most celestial.

He played a piece he had obtained from a friend of a friend, what was purported to be a sonata of Michel Blavet: the adagio, the allegro, the air, and then the presto. It would have been better with continuo, of course, but he would have to do without.The last movement was the most difficult, and there were a few places where he had to slow a bit from the tempo he would have preferred in order to make sure he was able to play through all the runs properly. He did not let any of it show on his face -- either the Prince would notice or he would not -- but internally he vowed to practice those runs double every night, so that if the Prince asked him again to play it he would not fall short.

He lowered the flute. There was a silence. The expression on the Prince's face was entirely different, tender and open where before it had been hard and closed. "Why," Fredersdorf said, startled into speech, "you love it as much as I do."

"You love it too?" The Prince's voice was also different; slow and open, almost shy.

"Playing the flute makes me happier than anything in the world," Fredersdorf said with absolute sincerity, and was rewarded by a smile from the Prince, the first Fredersdorf had seen. The smile lit up the Prince's rather homely face. Fredersdorf smiled back.

"You play so beautifully -- you don't by chance speak French too, do you?"

At that, Fredersdorf was forced to shake his head regretfully. "I'm afraid not, sir. Only German."

Prince Friedrich looked briefly disappointed, but then he shook his head. "Never mind. You have the soul of a nobleman, to play not just with skill but with such sensitivity, such exquisiteness of feeling."

Before Fredersdorf could figure out how to respond to that rather remarkable compliment, the Prince returned eagerly to music.

"It's Blavet you were playing, wasn't it?" Fredersdorf nodded, impressed and pleased that Prince Friedrich knew that much. "I didn't know he had anything for solo flute!" Fredersdorf smiled again, looked down, and forbore to mention that his copy might not have been an officially published one. "My teacher Quantz has nothing but praise for him --"

In his excitement, Fredersdorf burst out, "You mean to say you've had lessons from Quantz? _Johann Joachim_ Quantz?" Then he caught himself. "My apologies, sir, I ought not to have interrupted."

But Prince Friedrich waved that away. His face had become more animated as Fredersdorf spoke. "Yes, I have. Have you heard him perform?"

"Oh yes. Only once, some years back, but he was marvelous, and I shall never forget it." It had been an amazing and inspirational experience; Quantz was a virtuoso on the flute of the kind that Fredersdorf wanted to be, someday, perhaps, with enough practice.

"Yes," said Prince Friedrich simply. And both young men grinned at each other, knowing what the other meant. 

After a moment, Prince Friedrich went on. "He's a very good teacher, too. And he introduced me to all sorts of flute music -- there is an amazing flute counterpoint in one of Zelenka's works that I would love to hear someday in full concert -- and back to Blavet, there's a lovely sonata for two flutes of his --"

"Oh!" exclaimed Fredersdorf. "I don't have that music. I would love to play it, sir."

The Prince nodded, saying, "I started playing it with -- with -- right before -- before." And as quickly as that the light in his face flickered and went out, and his features once more became cold; perhaps colder than before Fredersdorf had started playing. Prince Friedrich looked away from him and said tightly, "My respects to your playing, Fredersdorf. Good day to you. I think you will be able to find your own way out."

Fredersdorf had no trouble deciphering this; the Prince must have played the duet before Katte's death, the death that had, it was rumored, hit the Prince so hard that for a time they thought he might die. Of course the Prince would not welcome any reminder of that. Fredersdorf understood that it was not about him; that although it sounded like a rejection it was not a rejection, for he remembered what he had seen in the Prince's face, before. And he also understood that for the Prince's sake, he must not appear to reject the Prince either, in any way. "Sir," he murmured. "Shall I come back tomorrow?"

Prince Friedrich looked at Fredersdorf, and for a second Fredersdorf fancied that they both thought of the music, the music that was greater than both of them. "Yes," the Prince said abruptly. "Come again tomorrow."

Fredersdorf nodded and turned away, and was not quite sure afterwards whether he had imagined the Prince saying, very low, "Please."

*

The next day, the Prince was still wearing the ragged brown coat from the previous day, and Fredersdorf wondered again that the Crown Prince had no better clothing, especially given the cold.

This time, Fredersdorf played some folk tunes, thinking those might be safer. Prince Friedrich did not look at him this time, and Fredersdorf could not tell what he was thinking. Despite himself, he started to doubt: perhaps he had not seen what he had thought, in the Prince's face the previous day; perhaps he had been mistaken.

Well. There was one other thing he could do. He said, "Sir, I have something else in my pack." He undid the straps and pulled out another flute case.

The Prince's eyes widened, and he involuntarily reached out a hand to it. Fredersdorf grinned and pushed it in his direction.

"Oh," Prince Friedrich breathed, cradling it in his hands. "You brought a flute for me!"

"I borrowed it from my friend." Fredersdorf paused. "I do have to take it back when I leave," he said apologetically. "Though," Fredersdorf continued, with a conspiratorial grin, "I have spoken to the guards, and if the flute playing sounds different, or even if there is strangely counterpoint-like music playing while I am here, well, the guards know I am a _very_ good flute player, and can vary my playing in many different ways."

Prince Friedrich started to laugh, and Fredersdorf joined in. Then the Prince stopped. His voice was cold again as he said, "I would prefer to play alone. It would also make it easier for the guards to ignore it, of course."

"Of course, Your Highness," Fredersdorf said smoothly; given what had happened yesterday, he was not totally surprised by what the Prince had said.

Prince Friedrich began to play, a very simple tune. He was hesitant at first, and his tone was inconsistent; Fredersdorf reminded himself that the Prince had not been able to play for a year. He could see the Prince becoming a bit frustrated, but he kept going, his entire concentration on the instrument.

"Sir," Fredersdorf offered diffidently as the Prince tried out some high notes, "if I may be so bold -- if you direct the air a little more downward for those notes, your tone should improve."

Prince Friedrich experimented. "Ah!" he said, smiling at Fredersdorf. "Yes, that's much better --"

An abrupt knock came at the door. "Your Royal Highness!"

The Prince’s face turned red at once. "It has in no way been an hour!" he shouted through the closed door as he shoved the flute into Fredersdorf’s hand. "Come back later!"

"I'm afraid it has, sir. Your Highness must return to the proper uses of a prince's time now."

And to Fredersdorf's shock, the door opened as he said this, and a man strode in and began giving orders to the Crown Prince. Fredersdorf had heard of him. This had to be Hille, the man who was in charge of Prince Friedrich in Küstrin. He looked to Fredersdorf like many a middle class civil servant he had seen: very sure of himself and his own rightness. But Fredersdorf had not imagined that this would extend to berating and ordering around the Crown Prince; Hille was now haranguing Prince Friedrich about how he must go study exports. Prince Friedrich seethed, but helplessly. 

All at once, Fredersdorf understood his impatience -- no, urgency -- to begin their sessions as soon as Fredersdorf arrived. Prince Friedrich was heir to the throne, but not even master of his own time.

"And no more of that degenerate flute music for today!" Hille concluded triumphantly.

Fredersdorf caught the Prince’s eye, and for a second, he was absolutely sure they were thinking the same thought: _What does this pompous ass know about it?_

The Prince’s mouth quirked upward, just a little. Fredersdorf said, “I shall see you tomorrow, Your Highness,” with just the faintest stress on _tomorrow_ , and bowed to them both. Prince Friedrich nodded to him, some of his resentment turning to visible relief.

*

Accordingly, on his return the next day, Fredersdorf got right to it. Only music, no idle chat; the only words they exchanged not directly about flute-playing concerned finding a book stand to hold up some music Fredersdorf had brought. So he was surprised when it was Prince Friedrich who put down his flute before the session had ended. He opened up the Bible on his table and retrieved a sealed letter from within its pages.

"Fredersdorf, since you've been kind enough to bring a second flute to our sessions, I wondered if I might impose on you further, and ask you to carry an occasional letter out.” Fredersdorf’s eyes widened; he could not help thinking of Lieutenant Katte, and how the King had court-martialed and executed him for smuggling messages to foreign powers for the Prince. “It's nothing political," Prince Friedrich added hastily, seeing Fredersdorf’s reaction.. "Only a note remembering me to my oldest sister. I do have permission to write her, but not as often as I'd like. I can promise you that you won't be the first, and no one's been in trouble for it yet."

Fredersdorf calmed. To help a loving brother and sister correspond was something he could wholeheartedly stand behind. And he could see why no one had gotten in trouble. He'd had an explanation ready for his second flute in case anyone searched, but no one had. Nor had he missed the nods and hidden smirks when he assured the officers at the front door that all flute sounds, no matter how implausible, were unquestionably coming from him.

"I'd be glad to, Your Royal Highness. No imposition."

Prince Friedrich inclined his head, and the warmth in his eyes made Fredersdorf hold his head a little higher with pride. He'd seen the Prince cold, vulnerable, excited, and now charming. He wondered if one day he would see him happy.

"My dear sister and I used to accompany each other on the lute and flute, before I came here, but that happiness won't be ours any more. Earlier this month, she left Prussia and married a prince the King chose for her -- and you can be certain he didn't prioritize her happiness.” The Prince put his hands to his face. “All to earn me more privileges in prison. Being allowed a musician to play for me was one. And so -- you'll be helping her, and me, as well."

Fredersdorf bowed his head. He hadn't realized he owed this assignment to the Princess Wilhelmine. "It would be my honor, sir."

*

There were two things Fredersdorf always saved up for his mother: stories and mending. He could hardly wait for his chance next leave to tell her about the easy camaraderie he and Prince Friedrich had found while playing flute, though he was only a commoner and the other was the Crown Prince; about how the Prince's playing improved every day; about the Prince's hungry look at the flute he brought, the look of a man starving and offered bread, and how it wrung Fredersdorf's heart, as someone who had never gone wanting for music. His father, God rest him, had been a musician himself.

And as for mending, well, Fredersdorf could make his uniform meet the strict standards of the Prussian army, but his mother's needle could give new life to old clothing, which his were in sore need of. Thankfully, it wouldn't be long before he saw her again.

Thoughts of old clothing gave Fredersdorf an idea: what if he could find a better coat to replace the pitiful one he always saw Prince Friedrich wearing? Since his arrival in Küstrin, it had come to Fredersdorf's attention that the townspeople had banded together to give the imprisoned prince finer clothing and food than the King had stipulated, and Fredersdorf wanted to make his own small contribution. Surely no one knew that the Prince was still in need of a new coat and forced to make do with one from the worst days of his life.

Once he began to spread this information, in veiled language, it didn't take long before he had obtained a plain but sturdy new coat, which he concealed in his pack. Fredersdorf was starting to understand just how much everyone had to pull together to ease the Crown Prince's sufferings. That was why he had brought the flute, and why he had agreed to carry letters. It would be shameful not to pitch in, when the Prince was young and hurting and only wanted innocent comforts.

So when he saw the Prince later that day, he said, "Your Royal Highness, I'll keep it quick, but I have something to give you before we start playing."

"A letter?" Prince Friedrich started to say, getting excited, but then he saw the size of the bundle Fredersdorf was taking out.

"Ah?" Looking puzzled but tentatively pleased, Prince Friedrich reached out when Fredersdorf turned to hand it over. "What is it? I --" And as he held up the coat, it unfolded itself in his hands and hung in the air before him. "I see."

"It's not much, sir," Fredersdorf apologized, "but it'll keep you warmer through the winter than the one you have, and I daresay remind you of better times."

Fredersdorf had not expected the Prince's reaction, which was to turn white and then red. He said softly, but with great vehemence, "No. NO." He let the coat drop. “How _dare_ you, you insolent -- !" His voice rose. "Get out. Get. OUT." And he seized Fredersdorf by the arm and pulled him and his pack to the door. Though the Prince might have been small, he was single-minded and had the element of surprise, and in any case Fredersdorf would hardly have resisted him.

Before Fredersdorf knew it, he was pushed out the door, his pack was tossed out after him, and the door slammed. He blinked.

He dusted himself off and left, ignoring the curious looks from the guards on either side of the door. Numb with shock, he looked around the town square, until he spotted a friend who'd been stationed in Küstrin much longer than he had. Fredersdorf crossed the square, greeted him, and grinned a bit apologetically. "Jakob, help me out here. Do you know what that coat the Prince always wears is all about?"

Jakob shrugged. "I know the King wouldn't let him have new clothes for a while, but he does now. But even with that, the Prince won't get a new coat. I heard it's the one Lieutenant Katte wore when he was, you know..." Jakob drew a finger across his throat. "I don't think I've ever seen the Prince without it, though I can't say I've seen him often."

"Oh," Fredersdorf said quietly, a chill settling into his belly. 

*

What had he done? Fredersdorf worried and fretted all night and into the morning. He would apologize in a heartbeat, if he knew the right words. How to speak about a subject that was so clearly off limits that its very unspeakability had led to his mistake in the first place?

Did it even matter? The Prince might not take him back even if he could find a way. It was hard to believe that with a single, well-meaning, unforgivably ignorant sentence, he'd undone weeks of camaraderie, but he couldn't have have targeted the Prince's deepest wound more accurately if he'd tried.

They cut off his head, and they made you watch, and now you won't let go of his coat. It made Fredersdorf sick to think of. It made him want to -- want to -- he didn't know what, but something drastic and impossible, to make everything better. And at the same time, it brought the King's wrath suddenly very close, where before it had been something in the distance, something that had happened a year ago, before the Crown Prince was pardoned and started on an intense training course as the next king.

Coming to visit Prince Friedrich had felt -- not safe, exactly, but not so dangerous either. He'd earned small liberties like music with his good behavior, and there was even talk of releasing him. The officers posted on guard outside his doors and windows to ensure he didn't make a run for it had become such a part of the background that Fredersdorf hardly even noticed them any more.

Now, he thought of the coat and shuddered. He wanted to run away and never look back.

And yet, in the back of his head, he heard his old mother saying, "Now, my boy, I never want to hear that fear kept you from doing the right thing."

Still, he wondered if it was worth it to go back, even if the Prince would take him, when this could happen again. Another misstep from Fredersdorf could mean another uncontrolled outburst from the Prince. Perhaps it was safer all around to declare this situation too much for anyone to handle.

But there was the music. Fredersdorf breathed in deeply, remembering. Prince Friedrich understood. He really understood: he wasn't some spoiled royal wanting entertainment that meant nothing to him, nor even someone playing an instrument simply because it was an accomplishment expected of him. He lived inside the music, as Fredersdorf did. The music made him whole, and that was something Fredersdorf had learned not to take for granted in life.

Oh, his father had taught him to play. Fredersdorf had been lucky in that respect. He found it hard to grasp what being denied music would be like. But to his father, music was no more than a job. He'd neither forbidden nor really understood Fredersdorf's desire to keep playing, unpaid, off duty. 

That kind of understanding was something Fredersdorf saw now in those intense blue eyes, no matter whether they were tender or impatient or haunted...or yes, even angry. He was sure of it.

Fredersdorf picked up his pack, his decision made. He would go back and walk that treacherous precipice between explaining and never approaching forbidden topics. And then he would see. If the Prince was still shouting and shoving when he finished, then no, it was over. But he would do his best to explain first.

Prince Friedrich deserved that much -- deserved to know that if he'd been hurt, for once it was unintentional.

*

Fredersdorf went back on full alert, with his eyes watching the Prince closely for the slightest clue to a way to handle this. He bowed deeply, as he always did, then waited. He could feel his heart pounding, wondering what the Prince would say.

"I wasn't sure --" the Prince started, and then clamped his mouth around the words. Fredersdorf heard them anyway: _I wasn't sure you'd come back._

His arms were folded, his jaw set, his mouth uncertain. Defensive, Fredersdorf guessed. And nervous all morning. So he knew he'd overreacted. He must have realized that Fredersdorf, who'd arrived in Küstrin less than a month ago, when he was summoned to play for the Prince, couldn't have heard all the stories the locals had. But no prince would apologize to a commoner. 

So Fredersdorf decided to keep it simple. "I certainly asked myself if I wanted to, if Your Royal Highness wanted me to," he said mildly. "But I knew I could tell you whole-heartedly that it would never happen again, and so I rather thought there was no reason not to come back, and every reason to do so. I never heard the end of that composition you were playing the other day, and I'd like to."

Prince Friedrich looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. Fredersdorf understood that it was a silent promise of his own to give Fredersdorf the benefit of the doubt next time. 

As Fredersdorf was taking out the two flute cases, Prince Friedrich reached under his bed. "I keep my contraband down here," he explained. "French volumes and such. And now sheet music. Since you started bringing me a flute, I've requested more music for you to play. This arrived last night." He handed Fredersdorf a score. "It's the Blavet duet, if you still want to play it with me."

“Oh yes, Your Highness!” Fredersdorf breathed, his eyes shining. 

Then he met the Prince's eyes, which he saw were full of relief, and maybe a touch of approval at his enthusiasm. Fredersdorf held his gaze for a moment, and in that moment, Fredersdorf saw that they had forgiven each other. 

They spread out the music and started to play. Fredersdorf took the second part, supplying the notes underneath while Prince Friedrich's haunting melody filled the air around them, until his part opened up into a line that moved with the Prince's. There was something about playing duets that he would never tire of, how one tried to be perfectly in time with the other musician, breathing and phrasing together, while still making one's own part as beautiful as possible. Prince Friedrich was, as he had suspected, a fine musician to play with, and understood all this as well. Although occasionally the Prince would stumble or slow, Fredersdorf could read the music well enough and follow him well enough to stay with him. They could not smile, not and maintain the embouchure, but sometimes their eyes met at the end of a phrase that was perfectly together. And as they came to the end and their lines converged to the same note, an octave apart, and they lifted their breath off their flutes at the same time, the euphoric smile Fredersdorf had been holding in broke out, and was mirrored on the Prince's face.

Fredersdorf had never had an hour go by so quickly, even though he was watching the clock the whole time to make sure they were ready to put away the second flute the second they heard footsteps in the hall. As he packed it away, Prince Friedrich said, his voice choked, "Fredersdorf, that was --" He stopped.

"Yes," said Fredersdorf, his own voice choking a little as he thought of the harmony, the counterpoint, making something with each other that was greater than what they could do alone. "It was, wasn't it?"

**********************

Two months had passed, and the late fall given way to deep winter. Fredersdorf had come to Prince Friedrich every day. With the chance to practice daily, the Prince was becoming quite good; Fredersdorf was also becoming rather better. The Prince had continued to use his connections to get them sheet music, which he secreted away under the bed alongside his stash of books in French. They talked about the flute, and about Johann Joachim Quantz, and the Prince's conversations ranged from those subjects to that of the arts in general, and poetry, and sometimes literature Fredersdorf hadn't heard of, but he didn't mind at all. He simply listened to it all in wonder. It was everything he could have dreamed of.

It wasn't always perfect; Prince Friedrich could be mocking or snappish, particularly if he had had unhappy news from his father. Still, there had never been a repeat of the day Fredersdorf had brought the coat; they had both learned how not to go too far.

Fredersdorf hoped that was still the case with this latest news. He took a deep breath. He knew this was not going to be pleasant, but he also knew that he might as well get it over with. "Sir, I will be gone next week on leave."

"What!" Friedrich almost shrieked. "That's absurd. Unconscionable. I forbid it."

Fredersdorf did not bother to point out that Prince Friedrich, who was still for all intents and purposes a prisoner, could not forbid him anything. "Sir," he said with the mild voice he had discovered worked best on the Prince, "it's to visit my old mother."

Immediately Prince Friedrich's anger ebbed. "Oh, your mother." There was a note in his voice that Fredersdorf didn't recognize. "In that case, you must go. It would be ungrateful to neglect her. She must miss you, yes?"

"Indeed she does," said Fredersdorf frankly. "And I miss her. I haven't seen her in quite some time, for several months, in fact." As he spoke, he kept puzzling, trying to figure out that odd note in the Prince's voice.

"My mother..." said Prince Friedrich, and sighed. "I also have not seen her for several months." And with that, Fredersdorf placed what was in the Prince's voice: it was _wistfulness_. Again Fredersdorf felt for the Prince. He did not understand anything about royalty, not really, but what he was given to understand was that it was usual for royalty to be rather distant from their children, not at all like his own dear mother. 

"Does your mother know," said Prince Friedrich, still wistfully, "that you visit me?"

"Oh yes, sir," said Fredersdorf instantly. "I wrote to her once -- I could not say much, but I mentioned playing the flute for you, and said to her that you were the best of princes. And in her reply, she sent her love to you, both as her prince and as, she said, a young man of an age to have been her son."

He had been unsure about telling the Prince this, for fear it might be seen as overreaching (although he knew his mother had had no such intention), and held himself ready to soothe the Prince should that become necessary. But it wasn't, for instead he saw Prince Friedrich's eyes go wide and soft. He saw that tenderness in the Prince's face that he had first seen as he played the flute, and had seen at odd times since, and he also saw some of that same hunger.

He thought: every man needs a mother, and perhaps one who is estranged from his father and kept away from the world needs one most of all. And so, although it was not something he often did with the Prince, he began to speak. He talked of the way his mother always had a kind word for everyone; how as a boy he would bring home friends at suppertime and she would scrape together an extra plate of cabbage and peas for them, knowing which families had to make food stretch even farther than hers; the comforting lavender decoctions he remembered even now, whenever he was sick or in pain.

"And she's a wonderful seamstress," Fredersdorf continued, his voice warming at the thought of her. Uncharacteristically, Prince Friedrich was quiet, drinking in every word. "She takes in mending from the neighbors in return for food or medicine, she's that good. And look, Your Highness." He took off his blue coat, showed Friedrich the right shoulder. "Ripped, all the way through, but you'd never know it from the way she repaired it. I've mended both my shirts, these last couple of months, but even though they pass muster at inspection, I'm bringing them home for her to work her magic on. Friend of mine in the regiment is adding in a pair of his breeches that tore in a, er, sensitive place. She's such a sweet soul, she likes to help out my friends even now that she never meets them."

He saw Prince Friedrich's eyes go to the fraying hems of his own coat, the tears that were starting to show more and more. Fredersdorf was struck by a thought, a possibility. But he would have to be careful.

"She told me that it's better," Fredersdorf said, as if he were speaking of nothing in particular, "to mend a piece of clothing sooner rather than later. It lasts twice as long that way." Then he waited. If it became the Prince's own idea, he would do it; if it were Fredersdorf's, he would not. Fredersdorf had learned that much.

"Would you --" Prince Friedrich's voice failed, and he looked for a minute quite young. "Would you take my coat to your mother for mending?"

"I would be happy to," Fredersdorf said, very gently. "I shall consider it as important as my life, Your Highness."

"See that you do," Prince Friedrich snapped, but Fredersdorf knew what underlay it, and did not take offense.

*

Friedrich paced back and forth. What had he been thinking, to let the coat out of his sight for so long? Friedrich worked himself into a frenzy of impatience during Fredersdorf's absence. What if it were ruined, or lost? What if Fredersdorf deserted?

What if Fredersdorf, having taken the coat that meant so much to Friedrich, never returned?

Katte might never have worn this particular prisoner's coat, but it was identical to the one he'd been wearing when he -- the last time Friedrich had seen him. Moreover, this coat was the last thing Katte had seen _him_ wearing. It was all he had left of his beloved now. Sometimes he thought he felt Katte's presence with him, when he wore it.

If it was gone forever, Friedrich thought he might go mad. Again.

But it was Fredersdorf's mother, Friedrich thought. He forced himself to remember Fredersdorf's flute playing, and the light in his eyes as he played. He thought of Fredersdorf's loving smile, that he had not even known he had, when he talked about his mother, and the answering ache in Friedrich's own heart.

And Fredersdorf had always come back. He had always come back, even when Friedrich had not thought that he would.

So he waited. Yet for all his attempts to reassure himself, he'd worked himself up to a state of terrible anxiety by the time Fredersdorf returned, exactly on the day and at the time he had promised. It was with difficulty that he managed to keep his voice relatively even as he demanded, "Where is it?"

But Fredersdorf was already opening his pack. He took it out, shook it out. Friedrich looked at it. As promised, the hems were neat again, the tears were stitched together, and he had to look closely to see that the coat had ever been torn at all.

He'd lived the last year in silent dread, trying not to notice as it grew slowly older and more worn. And now, it wasn't going to fall apart. Not for a good while yet.

It would last longer, Friedrich thought. He -- the coat would last longer, now that it had been repaired.

Fredersdorf had been waiting patiently with the coat in his hands while Friedrich had been thinking. Now he held it out toward Friedrich. "May I, sir?" Fredersdorf's voice was quiet and a little unsteady, as if he understood how important this was.

"All right," Friedrich said; he knew his voice sounded ungracious, but it was all he could do to keep himself from shivering, and not just from the cold. Fredersdorf held the coat for him, almost tenderly, as he put his arms into the sleeves, adjusting it across his shoulders.

The coat encircled him, like a caress from a mother, like an embrace from someone who was gone.

"Please do thank your mother for me," Friedrich said, able to think of his courtesies now. "I -- it is -- " He stopped, unable to find the words.

"I know," Fredersdorf said softly, infinitely gently. "I will."

They were both silent for a minute. Then Fredersdorf stirred. "I know you haven't played in a week-"

"Yes," Friedrich interrupted, "and I wish you hadn't been gone so long, but there is something I must tell you. There have been some developments while you were away. It's not common talk yet, but it will be soon: there's a chance for me to get out of here and get a regiment of my own, if I give into my father on his choice of a bride for me. I've almost made up my mind to accept, though I hate to. The giving in as much as the marriage itself, though all reports I've had of her make her out to be a ninny. A pretty face can't make up for that. At any rate, I may not be here much longer."

Fredersdorf's face showed surprise and -- was that disappointment? His voice was carefully level as he answered, "Whatever you decide, Your Highness, I wish you the best possible outcome. If I don't see you again, it's truly been an honor to play for you, and with you."

Friedrich gave him a searching look, wondering where ambition, fear, and love of music intersected in Fredersdorf's soul. 

Suddenly, Fredersdorf knelt and kissed Friedrich’s hand. He lifted his head, and Friedrich saw tears in his eyes.

"It won't be the same without you, of course, sir, but I wouldn't wish this place on you a minute longer. I hope you can see your sister again someday and play with her."

Friedrich put a hand on Fredersdorf's shoulder, his decision made. "You're a good man, Fredersdorf. I need someone I can count on. If I can get you transferred out of the army, would you consider being--oh, I suppose you'd have to be my valet, but I can dress myself. I want someone who can play the flute and do odd jobs as I need them. I won't have much freedom at first, but you can be sure getting Quantz back will be high on my list."

"Your Highness wants -- me?" Fredersdorf was startled. His eyes strayed toward the bed where the bodyservant slept.

"I didn't choose him," said Friedrich. He didn't have many choices in his life. "I choose you.” He raised Fredersdorf to his feet. "Will you come? For Quantz?" he said sardonically, giving them both an out before Fredersdorf could even think of hesitating.

Fredersdorf looked at him with something like real affection. And Friedrich’s heart lifted and was glad as Fredersdorf said quietly but with feeling, "For you. Quantz or no Quantz. Yes, I will come. Wherever you name, and whatever you need, for as long as you want me."

**Author's Note:**

> Friedrich and Fredersdorf met during Friedrich's imprisonment at Küstrin, when Fredersdorf came to play the flute for him. No one's been able to narrow it down any further, nor is anyone sure how much Friedrich's father had condoned their arrangement. For the purposes of this fic, they meet in November 1731, and at this time, Friedrich is still being forbidden to play himself, or to read French literature.
> 
> Wilhelmine does say in her memoirs that she agreed to marry a man of her father's choosing, whom she'd never met, in order to improve her brother's conditions. The connection with Fredersdorf is fictional.
> 
> Historians have suggested that Fredersdorf may have smuggled letters to and from Wilhelmine during this time, but there's no certain evidence.
> 
> After he left Küstrin, Friedrich brought Fredersdorf with him, to serve first as valet and then as chamberlain until shortly before Fredersdorf's death in 1758. He was entrusted with the treasury, the spy ring, and other sensitive responsibilities, and was basically "first minister" during the reign of Friedrich II, despite his origins as a commoner.
> 
> At Friedrich's court, Fredersdorf would also accompany the virtuoso Quantz on the flute, which speaks well of his proficiency.
> 
> The collection of solo sonatas by Blavet referenced in the fic was published in 1732, so in order to make it available in Küstrin in November 1731, the fic postulates a private, unauthorized copy in circulation. The duet they play was published in 1728, and can be found e.g. here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooRwyC4hdxo 
> 
> The brown coat: on the day of Katte's execution, Friedrich and Katte were made to dress in identical brown prisoners' coats. After Katte's death, Friedrich refused to let go of his, and wore it to rags. While it's _not_ the same coat Katte wore, it's reasonable to think there might have been rumors to that effect. Fredersdorf taking it to his mother to mend is completely fictional, although now that it's been written, it is hard not to hope that it happened. ;)


End file.
